


Law of Diminishing Returns

by boonies



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TVXQ breaks up. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Law of Diminishing Returns

*

 

Yunho doesn't understand his fridge.

 

He's gotten hooked on some overpriced brand of vitamin water and he buys it in bulk and there's never enough room in the fridge for all of it. Yunho stocks enough, okay, makes sure there's at least a couple of cold bottles at all times, plans it out days in advance, mathematically, logically, pragmatically.

 

But he keeps running out.

 

He wakes up most mornings and the fridge is empty.

 

He's usually forced to grab room-temperature water and it's totally fine, whatever, but it's also kind of really weird, because when he was living with Changmin, there was _always_ —

 

"Are you listening?"

 

Yunho turns around, shutting the fridge with a slow exhale.

 

"Sorry," he tells his dad sheepishly. "Go on."

 

His dad frowns. "Well, like I've been saying—"

 

"Like _we've_ been saying," Yunho's uncle interrupts.

 

His dad rolls his eyes. "Like _we've_ been saying. It's time, Yunho."

 

Yunho leans against the fridge, arms tense at his sides.

 

It's too hot in his apartment.

 

The water's gonna be undrinkable.

 

"Your uncle set everything up," his dad says, "so you just have to show up."

 

"She's studying law at Seoul National—"

 

"—even your sister likes her—"

 

"—she's beautiful—"

 

"—and wants children—"

 

Yunho's really thirsty.

 

But the water's so damn warm.

 

"Yunho," his dad says, "trust me on this one. Have I ever been wrong."

 

Yunho wants to say something.

 

He wants to just open his mouth and say all the things because there's a persistent nagging voice in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Changmin, and it's hissing _you were wrong about me and about music and about the lawsuit_ —

 

"No," Yunho says instead.

 

"And," his uncle agrees and firmly clasps Yunho's shoulder, guiding him away from the refrigerator, "when you two meet up, you should definitely discuss and settle on a date—"

 

"No, wait, I..." Yunho starts apologetically, "...I said I'd settle down when the time is right—"

 

"The time is right."

 

"I can't get married right before army—"

 

"That's the _perfect_ time to get married," his uncle laughs. "Have some fun making babies, then go. And by the time you come back, you won't have to deal with diapers or crying or tantrums."

 

...that's not what Yunho wants.

 

Yunho wants to deal with diapers and crying and tantrums.

 

"Make sure you meet her before you leave for Tokyo," his dad nods, patting him on the back.

 

"It only gets better from here," his uncle adds enthusiastically.

 

*

 

There were cookies on the plane.

 

There were cream-filled, chocolate-coated cookies and Yunho ate four and Changmin ate seven and so they're taking the stairs to their Tokyo apartment.

 

Yunho's hamstrings pull with each step.

 

The climb feels never-ending; left up, right up, with the dull drone of emergency exit lights in the background. Each step thuds heavily in a sort of hostile rhythm— _don't wanna do it, have to do it, don't wanna do it, have to do it._

 

He has to tell Changmin soon.

 

Unsurprisingly, Changmin is quiet.

 

He adjusts the strap of his backpack and keeps climbing, sunglasses still on, hair flat on one side.

 

Their steps match.

 

"Should've taken the elevator," Changmin grumbles, elbow brushing against Yunho's.

 

They shouldn't be walking like this.

 

It's not practical or comfortable.

 

Someone should move up or down.

 

"Got the keys?" Yunho murmurs instead.

 

"Unlike you," Changmin says, the corners of his lips curling, "I don't drop mine in toilets, so..."

 

Yunho should tell him.

 

Yunho's going to tell him.

 

He's going to open his mouth and just say it.

 

The jangle of Changmin's keys is too distracting.

 

Silently, they push into the apartment together.

 

The kitchenette is dark and cool and the kind of dusty that happens when they've been away for a month.

 

The kind of month that seemed to last a year.

 

"Changmin-ah—" Yunho starts.

 

With a great big huff of annoyance, Changmin flings his backpack at the nearest chair, kicks off his shoes, and grabs for the paper towel dispenser.

 

"...are you gonna clean," Yunho asks, only half-surprised.

 

"If I don't, the ants will get us," Changmin growls and sends a vicious glare at Yunho's feet.

 

Smiling, Yunho toes off his sandals and turns on the lights.

 

"Kyu said the ceiling in their shower collapsed," Changmin rants, mouth turned down in disgust, "and then the tub was full of ants and ant larvae—" He gags a little, scrubbing harder at random surfaces. "Yunho, I can't let the ants get us."

 

Yunho's ribcage fractures.

 

His heart swells stupidly.

 

He has to say it.

 

"And what are _you_ gonna do while I'm making sure we're not drowning in ant larvae?" Changmin demands, eyes narrowed in warning.

 

"...nap..."

 

Changmin's knuckles are white around the rag.

 

"I... mean..." Yunho amends hastily, "I'm gonna..."

 

"Vacuum."

 

"Yes, exactly, I'm gonna vacuum, you totally read my mind."

 

*

 

It takes two hours to ant-proof the apartment.

 

Yunho sneaks off in the middle to stretch out on his bed but Changmin hunts him down with zero mercy and then Yunho's stuck on deck-scrubbing duty and his wrists ache and his head hurts and he's hungry and... Changmin knocks into him in passing, rough and unapologetic.

 

"Harder."

 

Yunho grins, chest light.

 

Happily, he mops up, runs a dry towel over the hardwood floors, rinses out the bucket, then washes his hands, and collapses onto the couch.

 

Changmin plops down next to him, barely awake, hair tangled, hands scratched, nails cracked.

 

"Teamwork makes the dream work~" Yunho chirps sleepily.

 

Changmin turns to stare at him.

 

His voice is stern but his eyes are suspiciously mismatched when he says, "How are you allowed to speak in public."

 

"We're not in public," Yunho shrugs and puts his feet up on the coffee table.

 

Changmin glares.

 

With a pout, Yunho lowers his feet. "This is why I don't miss living with you."

 

Changmin snorts, sinking deeper into the couch, limbs sprawling everywhere. "You kept texting me every hour after you moved out."

 

Yunho's face is hot.

 

"...because I was worried about you..."

 

Exasperated, Changmin makes a face, then digs out his phone, and scrolls up, shoving the screen in Yunho's face. "You kept asking me where everything was. In your new apartment."

 

Yunho shouldn't argue.

 

He should tell Changmin about—

 

"I need something to drink," Changmin yawns and then he's stalking across the kitchenette, toward the refrigerator. It's already well-stocked with the kind of vitamin water they both like, and lazily, Yunho presses his cheek to the couch and watches.

 

Changmin takes out a bottle, untwists it, and puts it on the counter.

 

Then he bends down, takes two bottles from under the sink, and shoves them in the fridge.

 

Something clicks in Yunho's brain.

 

And then his heart.

 

And then his legs are forcing him up and across the apartment.

 

"What are you doing," Changmin starts, suspicious.

 

Yunho leans into him.

 

"...gross," Changmin says softly.

 

With a tentative jerk, his hands palm the small of Yunho's back.

 

"So gross," Yunho apologizes, burying his nose in Changmin's neck. "I'm sorry."

 

"Yeah," Changmin grumbles calmly, but his pulse is wrecking itself against Yunho's cheek. "Did you fuck up the vacuum or something."

 

"Yeah," Yunho says. "I'm sorry. I fucked it up royally."

 

*

 

"IF YOU SO MUCH AS _LOOK_ AT THAT BANANA," Changmin screams at the TV, maniacally mashing his controller and leaning a hard right, "I WILL _END_ YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU LO—OH, FUCK, NO, _DON'T YOU DARE_ —"

 

"...ehh, what banana..." Yunho grins innocently, then gnashes his teeth and releases the trigger. The banana peel smacks onto the course. Changmin's kart careens over it, blasts right off of banshee boardwalk, and crashes into the riverboat so hard it causes system-wide lag.

 

It's beautiful.

 

"...total accident," Yunho apologizes, biting his lips to keep from cackling. His bike zips across the finish line. The screen sparkles, updating its records. "Just... Changminnie, you know those bananas... so unpredictable."

 

A decorative pillow smacks into his face.

 

It peels off with a heavy thwack, dropping to the floor.

 

Yunho puffs at the lint on his mouth, satisfied.

 

His mind is blank and his chest is light and Changmin's panting uncontrollably next to him and it's okay.

 

Everything's gonna be okay.

 

As long as he's got Changmin, it's gonna be okay.

 

*

 

"Food here yet."

 

Yunho yawns at his phone, checking the delivery app. "We shouldn't be having junk food. The concert is tomorrow—"

 

"Food here yet," Changmin repeats, ignoring him. He's bent across the couch awkwardly, clearly trying not to encroach on Yunho's side. It can't be comfortable. The top of his head is brushing against Yunho's hip, legs hanging off one end, face buried into the soft leather beneath.

 

Yunho wants to pet his head.

 

He wants to run his fingers through that thick mess like he used to when they were kids and any sort of physical affection could be hand-waved away as ~youthful indiscretion.

 

But they're not kids anymore.

 

...Yunho has to say it.

 

Can't avoid it forever.

 

"Min-ah," he starts quietly.

 

"What the fuck is in my hair," Changmin grumbles, rubbing the side of his head into the couch.

 

Yunho glances down.

 

"Get it out for me," Changmin murmurs into the cushion.

 

His fingers are clawing at a seam in the leather, knuckles white.

 

There's nothing in Changmin's hair.

 

Yunho ruffles his bangs anyway, scratches behind his ears, runs his fingers up and down gently, tugs and pulls and twists until Changmin's half-asleep.

 

"Am I a dog," he complains halfheartedly but doesn't move.

 

Amused, Yunho raps his knuckles on Changmin's head, "Nah. Dogs actually listen to me."

 

"I listen..." Changmin starts, then snorts into the couch. "Yunho." He lifts his head and looks up, eyes dark and happy. "When has a dog ever listened to you."

 

Yunho's fingers slide down, catching the side of Changmin's flushed face. "Min-ah. I'm getting—"

 

The intercom beeps.

 

"—the food."

 

Yunho feels dazed.

 

"You're getting the food," Changmin prompts, sitting up with a pleased grin.

 

*

 

"Want my spinach?"

 

Yunho narrows his eyes. "No."

 

Changmin stabs his chopsticks into an oversized container. "Want my cabbage?"

 

"No," Yunho replies, hovering over his food with a protective scowl. "I want my shrimp. Not gonna trade."

 

Nose scrunched up, Changmin absentmindedly bites down on a chopstick. "...daikon and all the sweet potatoes..."

 

Yunho's ears perk up. But he says, with a heavy, exasperated sigh, "Yeah, I really don't miss living with you."

 

Grinning, Changmin helps himself to one of Yunho's prawns. "Yah, I'm just looking out for you, hyung. Vegetables are good for guys your age."

 

Yunho's stomach clenches.

 

"Normal guys your age," Changmin continues, oblivious, "already have wives that cook for them, so—"

 

"I'm getting married."

 

"—they don't have to worry about eating right. I mean, I'm essentially saving your life. Be grateful you're stuck with me. No refunds."

 

"Changmin. I'm getting married."

 

Changmin's gaze drops to the carton of white rice.

 

 

*

 

The concert is a mess.

 

Yunho can't seem to keep up. It's hot and humid and Changmin takes too long during his break.

 

Yunho runs out of things to talk about.

 

The audience doesn't care. They cheer and coddle him until Changmin returns and then the screens all flash _Bibari & Rui_ and Yunho's heart sinks.

 

They haven't talked about this.

 

They haven't talked about anything.

 

What is Yunho supposed to—

 

Changmin crosses the stage with purpose. Stretches out a long arm. Wraps it around Yunho's neck, slams their bodies together, chests colliding. Their mics bump and a screech of feedback reverberates through the stadium.

 

Shaking, Changmin raises his mic to his lips, flipping his wet bangs aside.

 

His nails dig into Yunho's collar.

 

"I don't appreciate being interrupted," Changmin drawls dangerously, and the line sounds vaguely off-script Bibari-esque so Yunho assumes he's Rui today—

 

"So many nuisances," Changmin recites, practically nuzzling Yunho's jaw.

 

Yunho should laugh and be mortified but Changmin's left arm slides down, nails clawing at Yunho's exposed chest.

 

There's a sharp sting and then Changmin grinds his hipbone into Yunho's thigh. He pauses as the fans' shrieks turn deafening.

 

"What if we aren't interrupted today..." Changmin murmurs into the mic, breath hot against Yunho's face.

 

The red ocean roars.

 

Changmin pauses again, eyes black, and forces Yunho's face closer.

 

The stadium is a giant roar of approval.

 

A rare rush of aggression thrums through Yunho's body and he pushes back.

 

Changmin staggers, almost loses his footing, then recoils back. His face darkens, lips thin, and then he's twisting a fist around Yunho's vest and pulling.

 

Something ugly curls through Yunho so he wraps his fingers around Changmin's wrist and squeezes hard enough to bruise. His breath is ragged, his lungs are burning, and his mouth wants to just bite down on something—

 

Changmin presses his lips to the corner of Yunho's.

 

Yunho can't hear anything.

 

Can't see.

 

Can't think.

 

There's just pressure behind his eyes and inside his heart and around his hips.

 

Changmin covers their heads with a jacket.

 

And in that secluded darkness, kisses him.

 

*

 

It's fine.

 

It's going to be fine.

 

Not much will change.

 

Except Yunho will have a wife and children and he'll get to bring his kids to the studio and bribe Changmin to change diapers and sing lullabies and listen for faded footsteps and changes in breathing—

 

Fuck.

 

Nauseated, Yunho snaps the blinds up and presses his face to the tiny window.

 

They're cruising above descent altitude and Yunho can almost recognize the familiar peaks and valleys of home below. Anxiety simmers low in his gut.

 

No, this is fine. It's natural. It's progression. It's moving onto the next stage of life.

 

It's easy.

 

It's so easy he can't understand why he hadn't done it years ago.

 

He should've gotten married early, like he'd planned when he was just some dumb kid. Should've gotten married at twenty-six or twenty-seven or... thirty-eight. Forty-eight. Maybe never.

 

"I want out."

 

Yunho frowns at the window.

 

Changmin's reflecting off it, sunglasses firmly on, earbuds in.

 

"I want out," he repeats calmly.

 

Yunho presses his forehead to the glass. "We'll be landing in a few minutes, so."

 

"Yunho," Changmin says. His voice is cool and even and neutral. "Our contracts expire soon."

 

Yunho's stomach flips painfully.

 

"Let's..." Changmin continues, unmoving, "...not renew them together."

 

*

 

It's like Yunho's met his quota of words.

 

Like his entire vocabulary has vanished, like his throat has dried up, like his lips have been stitched up. His tongue curls around the first syllable in Changmin's name, but Changmin's manager puts up a hand.

 

"This is doable," he grunts, stressed. "If Yunho-ssi enters the military soon and Changmin-ssi enlists two years later, we can—"

 

"—hide it for at least four years," Yunho's manager finishes, nodding in agreement. He slides a stack of papers across the table at Changmin's manager, forehead beaded with sweat. "By then, everyone will have already adjusted to seeing them as separate entities—"

 

"So we agree," someone says. "It's not necessary to announce it officially."

 

Another one replies, "Management would prefer if we could... protect the public, yes."

 

*

 

Yunho wants to be unconditionally kind to Changmin.

 

Wants to give him his freedom as soon as possible.

 

But he can't.

 

He schedules his enlistment date on the very last socially acceptable day.

 

Breakups should be natural to him by now; it's sink or swim and Yunho can survive anything, has done it before.

 

But his heart is defective.

 

It's a mosaic of broken pieces, and there's a fault in his reasoning, a flaw in his survival.

 

Only Changmin knows how to put the pieces back together.

 

So Yunho can't be kind.

 

"Would it be possible for the future groom to smile?"

 

Startled, Yunho looks at the photographer.

 

With a polite smile, he gets his shit together and adjusts his tie and smiles for the camera.

 

He schedules the wedding a week before enlistment.

 

*

 

Yunho wants to go bowling.

 

He wants to go bowling with Changmin.

 

So he calls him up at midnight.

 

Changmin doesn't pick up.

 

Calm, Yunho texts: _antis spreading rumors re: TVXQ breaking up. Damage control. Come play. Need photographic evidence._

 

His knees ache and his back is one tight knot by the time he drags himself to the bowling alley, and some part of him is terrified about running out of excuses and reasons and blackmail material. The other part of him, the ethical, good boy hyung, protests.

 

But even that part desperately wants to see Changmin.

 

"What the fuck," Changmin greets.

 

Yunho shrugs, heart splintering. "I don't make the rules."

 

"...just take a picture so I can go," Changmin growls, pajama pants askew, threadbare tee hanging off one shoulder.

 

Yunho books a lane instead.

 

It takes two strikes to get Changmin combative enough to participate.

 

"I don't want to play," he warns but picks up an orange house ball off the rack.

 

"Need the bumpers up?" Yunho challenges.

 

Infuriated, Changmin glances at the monitor, where his name is horribly misspelled under Yunho's, then takes an angry, Bambi-like stroll down the lane. His ball goes flying down the wrong path and gutters out midway.

 

"...so, just curious, but what do I get if I win..." Yunho asks conversationally.

 

There's only one thing he wants.

 

"A concussion," Changmin threatens, baring his teeth at the screen.

 

Tense, Yunho rises and palms a lighter ball, meticulous in his execution. He picks up the spare and slumps down next to Changmin in the booth.

 

"If I win," he murmurs, steepling his hands atop the table. "You'll congratulate me."

 

Changmin snaps his head around, lips set in a grim line.

 

"Congratulations," he grits out.

 

"And you'll stay."

 

Changmin's jaw clenches.

 

Unbidden, the kiss loops over and over and over in Yunho's head; the heat of it, the taste of it, the anger and the desperation and the want.

 

...what the fuck is Yunho doing.

 

What even is the point here.

 

"If I win," Changmin says eventually. His knee knocks Yunho's under the table. "You won't get married."

 

Yunho has to get married.

 

If not to this woman, if not now, then one day, to some other woman. It has to happen. The time he's had, the borrowed time where only Changmin mattered, has to end. Changmin is a little brother, a business partner, a friend. He can't...

 

There isn't...

 

Fuck.

 

"Why can't we keep the group together," he asks miserably.

 

The pins reset in the distance.

 

Changmin rises.

 

"There are seven days in a week," he says with a low growl, "and I don't want to give her even one of yours."

 

It ends in a draw.

*

 

There's nothing wrong with this woman. Nothing objectionable. She's smart and kind and beautiful. She's everything Yunho says he wants. Even his fanbase approves.

 

And he can't say _I don't want to_. _I don't want to_ is not a good enough reason. Never has been.

 

On days when Yunho misses Changmin whining about recyclable trash or complaining about the grapes having seeds or yelling about Yunho accidentally opening his mail, Yunho tries to picture the future. Tries to imagine bickering with his wife about costume changes, being nagged about his shoes, cheating against her at video games; tries to imagine the cumulative worth of twelve years under the same roof, of a world no one can trespass through.

 

On days like that, Yunho feels like deep old scars are reopening.

 

Scars that Changmin's whining and complaining and yelling continuously stitched up, pinned together like a crisscross of industrial-strength staples, covered up and fixed, even if only temporarily.

 

Without Changmin, the rock that Yunho is made of turns into an iceberg chipping away from shore.

 

"It's regrettable," his uncle sighs, flipping through a hundred-page deposition, "that your member—"

 

"Partner," Yunho corrects, initialing what needs to be initialed.

 

Uncomfortable, his uncle pauses. "Yes. Partner. It's regrettable he's decided to go solo. Most artists nowadays don't succeed as—"

 

"He's gonna be successful."

 

His uncle taps his pen on the desk, humming, "We do have some legal recourse if you're—"

 

"No."

 

"Ah," his uncle shrugs, sliding another highlighted page across the desk. "Well. You'll be fine. You're everyone's golden boy. We'll negotiate better terms this time."

 

Yunho tunes out.

 

He's served out twelve years and for the majority of the term, he felt like he'd been abiding by a marriage vow, not a contract, which—

 

"We knew it couldn't last forever," his uncle chatters on, marking off corrections in margins. "Regardless of what you do, all things depreciate in value."

 

Except there's nothing Yunho values more than Changmin.

 

 

*

 

"Coffee."

 

"I don't drink coffee."

 

"More rumors, Changminnie. Our hypothetical breakup is trending again."

 

"...have you looked up the definition of hypothetical—"

 

"Did you get the invite?"

 

There's a long pause and then a wary, "Yeah."

 

"You're coming, right."

 

There's another pause, longer and emotionally charged, and then, "Yeah."

 

Yunho almost hangs up before there's a hurried, "I'm bringing two girls. Three."

 

Yunho's heart throbs.

 

"Bring four."

 

*

 

Changmin shows up alone.

 

*

 

There's an entire room filled with congratulatory wreaths and rice donations and greeting cards.

 

None of it registers.

 

The only thing that does is Changmin's face when they shake each other's hand in passing.

 

And how, when Changmin's fingers withdraw, Yunho's wedding band starts to cut into his skin.

 

*

 

Yunho's goodbye concert is a blur.

 

The set-list is easy, familiar, comforting.

 

The goodbye is not.

 

"I just wanted to say," Yunho shouts into the mic, hair damp and eyes wet, "Cassiopeia, _thank you!_ "

 

A hush falls over the auditorium.

 

"For someone like me," he says, voice cracking embarrassingly, "you have always been too much and somehow never enough." He inhales deeply, humid air burning his throat. "I will work hard—"

 

The room erupts in panicked cheers.

 

"—and make you proud."

 

Yunho's voice turns soft.

 

"Cassiopeia," he says, raw and honest, eyes locking with Changmin's, "I love you."

 

Changmin's throat jerks and before Yunho can stop himself, he's grabbing Changmin close, enveloping him in a last hug; just trying to swallow and smother him whole but Changmin is so tall now, broad-shouldered and solid and big, and Yunho wants so badly to go back, just twelve years, only twelve years, at least for a moment, just the tiniest bit.

 

Changmin's hands are shaking.

 

Quietly, he clutches at Yunho's buttons. The mic slides to the ground.

 

"I really fucking hate you," he tells Yunho's neck, sounding hoarse and furious.

 

Something wet soaks through Yunho's collar.

 

He wants to say _thank you for staying with me until you broke_ and _sorry for wanting to keep you forever_ and _maybe in a different life_.

 

Instead he pushes off and bows at the crowd.

 

Whatever rusty anchor's been keeping him chained to shore snaps.

 

*

 

Yunho's unit leaves at dawn.

  
He takes nothing with him but a bottle of lukewarm water.


End file.
